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I’m the kind of person who likes hanging out with friends but wants to call off the date right before heading out.

I like making all the appointments when I receive my exam timetables. I haven’t seen my friends for so long cause of the busy semester. My schedule is always filled the first week right after the last examination. Monday going to hang out with the trio squad; Tuesday gonna spend some time with Helen; Wednesday for Disney; Thursday… it’s always up to the fourth day of planning when I figure out I don’t have a full day for sleeping, watching YouTube, doing nothing.

Among all my friends, I’m the one who’s always has the latest examinations. They all end their semester early, so I would keep looking at their snaps or stories, wishing I could leave this revision stage as soon as possible. I would quickly ask when they are free and plan all the things, as one way to have a goal prize and keep myself motivated.

I do all the dating, after the third day, I’m exhausted, mentally. I realize I haven’t spoken to anyone right after the last day of teaching, so it’s been like nearly a month. I wasn’t like this when I’m in the first two years in University, I would still head out days before exams. But now, I always locked myself in my room starting from November and April for first and second semester respectively. And how ironic is that I pushed all the dates in November (my birthday is in that month).

After the forth day, I would lay on my bed, watching videos. I keep one swiping and swiping and thought, why do I find nothing interesting to watch? I now want to hang out with my friends. It’s a loop.

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I’m the kind of person who always does a little bit acting with myself but only does it in English.

I had a toddler size worm cushion since I was three and I always held it until I could sleep. Yes, it’s a worm, not a typo. It has many colors on it, from red to blue, from blue to yellow. When I got in middle school, I made a friend. We discussed weird things together; handsome singers, actors, viners… viners were still a thing back then. She started making up romance stories about the handsome guy and me or her if she felt like the character suited her. She would come back with new chapters every day and I got so excited every time I headed back to school, just to listen to her stories. It's pure verbal. She didn’t write the things down. I of course did something in return. I wrote fan fiction for us, naming the characters with our names’ initials. Mine was Emery and hers was Tina. When we were sharing stories, we were indeed blushing and laughing hysterically. Now thinking of it, its pure embarrassment. Could I archive this on Padlet?

After weeks, I felt bored. I could only get a new storyline after thinking about it the whole night prior. I started acting them out. Facing my worm cushion, looking at its big round eyes, not being able to keep the conversation going. It’s alright! I could finish its line. So this ritual kept going and going, unless I was supper sleepy. My friend didn’t know of course, but now everyone knows… If Worm was Logan Lerman, I would, of course, keep the entire conversation in English. If Worm was Voldemort, I would take my scrolled paper stick and act out the last scene. I was so proud of my acting, only if I did record them, I would now be begging for a death sentence right away, bushing and kneeling on the floor.

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1.     I’m the kind of person who loves sleeping but never goes to bed early.

2.     I’m the kind of person who enjoys drama films but finds most of them boring.

3.     I’m the kind of person who doesn’t pay 100% effort on something but I’m ambitious.

4.     I’m the kind of person who sings but scared of comments and judgment.

5.     I’m the kind of person who loves laughing but sometimes make myself look stupid by laughing too hard.

6.     I’m the kind of person who wants to learn many things but doesn’t have any patience.

7.     I’m the kind of person who is judgy but never saying them out loud.

8.     I’m the kind of person who starts things early but somehow finishes it just right before deadlines.

9.     I’m the kind of person who works thing fast but really depends on circumstances.

10.  I’m the kind of person who always does a little bit acting with myself but only does it in English.

11.  I’m the kind of person who hates doing dishes but loves touching the clean plates and bowls.

12.  I’m the kind of person who can only work at home but still gets distracted easily.

13.  I’m the kind of person who wants pet but can’t even take care of myself first.

14.  I’m the kind of person who replaces water with tea but gets stomachache easily.

15.  I’m the kind of person who likes hanging out with friends but wants to call off the date right before heading out.

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I didn’t know what Shakshuka was like and of course, what it tasted like. I tried it the first time in Sheffield and I loved it instantly. The warm feeling when I swallowed the cheesy and thick tomato bean stew gave me comfort.

I learnt how to cook Shakshuka when I was in Montreal, trying to use some simple cooking to refill my despondency and emptiness. I cooked it twice a month and I returned Hong Kong after having the sixth Shakshuka.

I didn’t cook Shakshuka anymore when I got back here, except once, wanting to boast to my parents that I knew some cooking. They enjoyed it. My dad didn’t like stew or condense paste, but he said he liked it, though he only ate three spoons of it and stopped.

Another two months passed; I started cooking Shakshuka again. This time, I was cooking in a familiar kitchen. It tasted the best out of the times I’d cooked it. I used baguette this time instead of pita bread; it’s easier to get baguette than sourdough or challah bread in Hong Kong. It still tasted good with baguette. It’s been four months since I last saw my parents but I stopped cooking Shakshuka. Instead, I’m now learning how to cook different dessert and dishes.

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It was a long day, in a good way though. On the way back to the ground, we didn’t talk much. We simply rested and took photos. The amusement park was darker than I thought it would be. The only beaming lights that could be clearly seen was the tennis court near the park.

When we were on cable cars going uphill, she was agitated. She even waved and said hi to the cable cars next to us. We bursted into laughter easily and joked all the way up. We now just sat there quietly and watched the dreadful dark mountains far away from us, the messy organized short buildings, the visitors fled and diverted into different alleys.

After going across the last hill, we wanted to swap seats and had a better view of each other’s view. I took my phone out and stuck my phone outside the window of the cable car. I could feel my hands shaking, so scared that the phone might fall. I got near the windows, I felt cool breeze striking my face. It felt refreshing, taking a bit of lassitude away. I closed my eyes and I could smell the woods and groves. The next time when I opened my eyes, I could only see the arrival platform. We sat till the last minute and stepped out of the cable car. We pulled our weary legs and readied to eat to replenish our energy.

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It’s always my dream place to travel to. I talked about going there since high school. It was such an unexpected place of my dream. I was watching a vlog on YouTube, and she shared so many fun pieces in this place - the seashore, the random stalls, the sumptuous brunch. I didn’t have any idea of what it’s like there, or cities around it. After scanning through her vlogs in other cities nearby, or the ones other people claimed worth going. I ignored all of them and told my parents, I must go there one day. They simply laughed, saying I knew nothing about travelling and didn’t think I truly knew what to love and what was beautiful.

Four years after the sudden aspire, I finally got the chance to see the place myself. I got a heavy cold when I got there. It was so different from what I’d expected or remembered four years ago. Maybe because I got there at post-Christmas, everything was half closed.

There were more thrift shops and freakish antique stores than I thought it would have. The small stalls along the seashore were closed and only one opened. It sold prawns and shrimps. I got three freshly caught shrimps and prawn legs. With the cold breeze, and the seafood, I felt like I could be sitting here for so long. The sun looked bright but it was never stinging like the sunlight in Hong Kong. I squeezed some lemon juice onto the shrimps, hoping they could cover the corned flavour. I took the first bite, I scringed my eyes, it tasted saltier than I expected. It wasn’t the taste of seawater though. I first thought was my strange taste buds due to the ailment, but then the customers sitting next to my beach picnic set didn’t finish their seafood, the seafood might be “too” fresh afterall.

Scattered group of people had been waking along the pavement, street performers had been changing songs and instruments, and the light was getting dimmer. I sat through sunset. The shopkeeper went out from the stall, grabbed the displaying board and dragged it back into the stall. She went in front of the booth and started to clear the ice. She hopped and seized the blinder. She went back inside the stall, turned off the light and she went along the crowd, never spotting her from then. The decoration lights along the seaside and pavement were lighted up one by one, showing more colours along the seaboard.

I got up and took my finished bowls. I joined and disappeared in the groups of people, returning to my hotel room for the next day.

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1)     From getting bothered by the shadow at the corner to getting asleep easily dark in the night.

2)     From not willing to cook to find new recipe and explore.

3)     From hating small talks to understand it.

4)     From not being alone for one pure second to spending more time with my own self.

5)     From loving pools to loving beaches.

6)     From not caring how I dress to pairing different outfits and make myself the “fashion icon”.

7)     From keeping everything basic to applying perfume, lighting up candles, applying simple make up.

8)     From being scared at getting involved to stop hiding myself away from the spotlight.

9)     From saying “you’re welcome” to saying “no worries”.

10)  From not paying attention to the lyrics to thinking lyrics is the soul.

11)  From drinking latte to enjoying americano.

12)  From not liking pastries to having pastries for every breakfast, for convenience, or maybe I really do enjoy them?

13)  From hating my own voice to embracing it.

14)  From organizing parties for my birthday to simply a meal for celebration.

15)  From the always-study-girl to start enjoying hanging out.

16)  From wanting to have someone’s best friend to being honored to offer help if a friend simply calls.

17)  From getting whatever and support easily to starting everything over by myself.

18)  From having a simple fantasy of what romance is to being fortunate I stop fantasizing while still remain some parts of my believes.

19)  From being forgiving to being persistent to myself.

20)  From thinking I’m not especially good at one thing to embracing the fact maybe I’m just an all-rounded person.

21)  From being inclusive, tolerating and indifferent to being judging, assertive and confident.

22)  From trying so hard to getting liked by everyone to trying my best to getting liked by someone worth.

23)  From loving stability to willing to shake things a bit.

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Short Story: “Truth and Consequences”

1)     Charles

2)     A change inside the character:
From an indifferent, mother’s boy, undiscerning and with prejudice to an independent, standing by his stance and concerning himself

3)     The narrative’s “landscape” with his mother by the pool before talking to the girl

·       a bustling with noise pool while himself observing everything

·       throughout the entire convo, only “damn”, “hell” sticks out

·       mother’s repeated words, and now I don’t know what people see in her

4)     The narrative’s “landscape” chatting with the girl for the very first time

·       I’m starting to like her and am curious about her

·       The night is so quiet and seems like just the two of us, listening to each other, to ourselves for the first time

Sounds of playing croquet, kitchen noises and I don’t notice these before

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Film’s edition of “Me Before You” by Jojo Moyes

1.     Louisa Clark

2.     A change inside the character Louisa:
From an aimless, restrained by money, unconfident girl to a confident, perusing her dream, self-appointed and brave woman.

3.     The interview scene where Will’s mum is interviewing Louisa for the job of being a caretaker. It is before Louisa meeting Will Traynor.

·       Restrained by wearing as a “formal normal” person

·       Entering the main door, a castle behind to the interview room, a spacey, big windows and well-decorated room

·       Louisa is half covered by sun-light, another half of the face is in the shadow

4.     The potential scene where Louisa and Will are talking about dreams and fashion. This is after Louisa has met Will for about a month.

·       Louisa is out in the garden, right under the sun-light but still facing back at the sun

·       First ever time she talks about her passion about fashion

·       She’s taken aback of what Will’s saying but looks a bit moved

There is another change after Will’s death:

5.     The France scene where Louisa is reading Will’s letter in Paris. This is after Will’s death, in which Louisa goes through changes completely.

·       Louisa is facing the sun, showing her entire face completely

·       She looks a bit timid and awkward while walking on the road in Paris (I believed it’s the first time she’s outside England)

·       She looks more confident in her stripey leggings and she looks anticipating.

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Eleanor Who? (They still sound so cliche)

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Eleanor Who? (They still sound so cliche)

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Her look at me was stern but her eyes were fuzzing as shattering glass.

Her look at me was raging as if she’s burning her own prison.

Her look at me was bland as floating white clouds losing their directions.

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Exercise 1 – Slow Motion

It’s a huge bottle, when I’m placing it on top of my table I’m sitting in front of, the capsule is the same level as my eyes. It’s a transparent glass bottle and I could clearly see the brownish liquid in it. The capsule reminds my of the traditional coca cola bottles, covered in white and a red ribbon like stipe printed in between. There’s a white label like being cut from an old parchment sticking at the neck of the bottle. There it writes the pumpkin spice syrup. The body of the bottle is covered by the big sticker, mentioning the ingredients and I just realized it mainly consists of sugar cane, water and some vegetation spices, which means it’s vegan friendly. The slope connecting the neck and the body are designed with some dented semicircle, with the height it is on and the shape of the bottle, it looks like the windows from the tower of Rapunzel. Maybe because of the leaves and seeds printed on the large sticker or maybe because I actually need to look up to get the full picture of the bottle.

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Exercise 2 – Accuracy

Simile (seems to me is like a simple relationship between the ideas and the image, but it does not have to contain something deep)

1.      The untouched sketch book is like the whipped cream on my cupcake, I’m just too afraid to stain it with bad creation.

2.      The sketch book smells like an old parchment. I’m enjoying too much of the vanilla smell, it could be just the dust though.

3.      The twelve pages sketch is like the diary in my wonder.

4.      The water colour sketchbook looks like it’s directly imported from the 19th century France, with fine accuracy and shades of grey and tan.

5.      The foxing in the pages in between is like the water ripples. I could never remove them.

Metaphor (much deeper meaning? Shows a bit of emotional and the hidden meaning?)

1)     The untouched sketch book is myself of wanting to create something big while dampening myself back to reality.

2)     The sketch book remaining untouched is becoming my guilt of not reaching out.

3)     I’m trying to hide my the inner the pages in sketchbook, yet it slips out my thoughts easily.

4)     The sketchbook is the capacity I could bear. It’s been keeping like this for so long and I forgot I’m a human myself.

5)     The erased draft could not be fully wiped out and I couldn’t pretend being oblivious to what truly lies within me.

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Exercise 3 – Context

I pour the coffee beans randomly on the plate. There’s one in particular stand out to me. When you think of a roasted coffee bean, you’ll draw an oval circle, you leave a straight line cutting the beans in half, you paint the oval brown, you fill the line using a pale brown. I guess that’s everyone’s first image of whatever a coffee bean looks like, or simply what a bean looks like. That bean, the stipe is replaced by nihility, it is only left with a brownish shell. It’s just like a tortilla bread, not a taco though. It looks like it’s missing something but it indeed is a coffee bean. Flipping them all upside down, facing their beetles’ backs, they are all filled with scars and speckles. That bean is still a bean.

It’s quite amusing how we are all being educated or presuming what something looks like in our heads. If some parts or let’s say a particular different part in the whole is taken out, the entire characteristics of what that thing have are simply gone. When a snail’s carapace is being pulled out, it kills him, it kills not only it’s purpose of existing, it kills the idea of the left behind is either a shell found in the seashore or a slugs slithering wildly.

I pick them one by one, they all weight about the same, which means the other beans should all be as hollow as that bean is. Then I pour them back into the coffee tin, ready to get myself a freshly brewed dark coffee.